


Infinite Potential

by UniverseOnHerShoulders



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Anxiety, F/M, Gen, Post-Episode: s06e01-e02 Impossible Astronaut/Day of the Moon, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:55:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29586876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseOnHerShoulders/pseuds/UniverseOnHerShoulders
Summary: The Doctor isn't sure how to process Amy's revelation about her pregnancy. He's faced a lot of things over his long lifetime: companions leaving him, companions falling in love, companions with new jobs, companions using the TARDIS as a moving vehicle... but this? This is new. Blighted by the Gallifreyan ability to see every possible outcome unspooling in front of him, he experiences a moment of anxiety... and euphoria.
Relationships: Amy Pond/Rory Williams, Eleventh Doctor & Amy Pond
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	Infinite Potential

“Doctor, I’m pregnant.”

The memory of the words unspool in the Doctor’s mind as he stands at the console, his shoulders hunched over as he wonders what this could possibly mean, not only for his own future but for that of the Ponds. Not for the first time, the omnipresent tug of Time that he can feel with each double-beat of his hearts is an unwelcome undertow to his thoughts, offering him scenario after scenario after scenario until his head spins and nausea rises in him, hot and overwhelming, and he realises he’s been holding his breath, as though that might mitigate the anxiety coursing through his veins. A thousand futures unfurl before him; a thousand combinations split off by a thousand tiny decisions or mutations or happenstances, and each of them brings with it its own cause for celebration or its own cause for sorrow; each of them tainted with the knowledge that whatever happens, it’s going to change his relationship with the Ponds forever.

He knows that’s a selfish thought. He knows that it’s entirely egotistical to place himself at the centre of such happy news and consider the ramifications it’s going to have upon his own life, and yet he can’t help but feel… not aggrieved, but he feels a precognisant sense of sadness that he’ll likely be overlooked in favour of a tiny, helpless infant; a tiny infant who he’ll be expected to hold and dandle on his knee and fuss over in a manner that he has done before, many lifetimes ago, and which still brings tears to his eyes to recall. He remembers his own children, of course, and his grandchildren; remembers how he had held each of them as though they were made of the most fragile glass, but taken their presence for granted until their lives had been cruelly and prematurely snuffed out by the atrocities of the Time War. The thought of holding a child again, a real child, warm and squirming and full of infinite potential and hope and joy, burdened by the weight of its parents aspirations, is overwhelming; the thought of holding Amy and Rory’s child even more so. What if he gets it wrong? What if he drops it? What if he says or does the wrong thing and the child ends up with two heads or no head or six arms? He’d like to think that one’s dad skills never abate, and yet the prospect of being handed a tiny, precious bundle is too much to think about.

There will be pressure on him, of course, to be the cool uncle; perhaps to take the child into space to help them with their school projects, or nip back in time with them to interview historical figures for a homework assignments. The thought that this would, technically, be cheating does not overly alarm the Doctor – he has, after all, never had much respect for rules or limitations – but he worries about his own ability to keep a child safe; to keep them protected from danger and death and destruction; to keep them out of harm’s way, and return them home safely. He pictures, without wanting to, Amy screaming at him with tears in her eyes; furious at some mishap, either minor or major; pictures Rory’s quiet, ice-cold fury, or a punch in the face. He’s been on the receiving end of Rory’s right hook before, and he’s not particularly keen to repeat the experience.

Part of him wonders who the child might most closely resemble, and that seems a safe enough thought to explore further. He smiles to himself as he mentally takes gentle hold of several strands of possibility and allows them to lazily develop before him, showing him a flame-haired little girl with her father’s eyes; a sandy-haired son with his mother’s piercing green gaze; twins, a perfect mix of both parents; more and more and more images, too many to comprehend entirely but enough to cause him a small pang of happiness, even amidst the other, more frightening possibilities. He tries to focus on the positives; wondering whether the child might be blessed with the Scottish accent of their mother, their father’s tenacity, and their mother’s fire, and knows that however they mind end up, they will be infinitely, immeasurably adored – and likely are already.

The Doctor has never travelled with someone pregnant before. In all his years of roaming time and space, avoiding his own people with stubborn determination and occupying himself by interfering in the planetary affairs of other races, he’s never brought someone pregnant aboard the TARDIS, and he wonders why. Is it the risk of harm to them or to the unborn child? Or is it that it would serve as a reminder for all he has forsworn with the life he has chosen? Now, faced with such a scenario, he worries the mere thought of it, knowing that Amy will only chastise him for misogyny or prejudice or similar themes, but there’s the very real worry of how time travel could affect the tiny, vulnerable life inside her; how changes in different planets’ atmospheres or pressures could impact the developing child; the thought of the sheer number of times they’ve had to run for their lives and barely scraped by; the memory of how many times Amy has tripped and fallen. She’d always laughed it off before, as they’d tumbled into the TARDIS eventually; now, he’s not so sure of her resilience. She won’t find it funny any longer; stumbling holds greater weight now. He puts his head in his hands on the console as he finds himself starting to hyperventilate, his mind showing him a hundred different frightening outcomes, all of which are, nominally at least, his fault.

“Please,” he whispers to his ship, as though she might be able to influence the horrifying images playing through his head. “Please keep her safe. Please keep them all safe.”

There’s a soft burbling from the console, which he takes as gentle acquiescence, and he runs his hands wearily over his face, closing his eyes tightly and offering a silent prayer to the gods of time, as though doing so might discourage them from extending their reach to Amy and harming her unborn child.

There is, of course, another possibility; one that the Doctor is entirely too selfish to consider, but would at least put her out of harm’s way for good. There is the slightest chance that Amy and Rory might wish to disembark from the TARDIS to safeguard the future of the life they’ve created; that they might decide that danger and adrenaline are unsuitable pursuits for a woman carrying a child. They might want to settle down; might want to leave him behind them and attempt to live – he shudders at the idea – a _normal life_. The thought is jarring and unwelcoming, and he feels a surge of horror at the mere prospect of it; he is unable to comprehend a life in which their good-natured laughter and flirting do not permeate the ship, and in which Amy and Rory are not loping along behind him as they explore alien planets and space stations. The Doctor without the two of them is almost unthinkable, and his brain supplies helpful literary analogies almost unbidden; Aramis without Porthos or Athos; Harry without Hermione or Ron; Aragorn without Legolas or Gimli.

He has existed alone, of course. For centuries, he has wandered the universe without friends; without allies; without companions. It would be nothing new, and yet it would be entirely new; it would be an unwelcome reminder of his status as the last of his kind, following a solitary life as his friends bring new life into the world. He shouldn’t be alone; he knows that now; knows he can never tolerate it again, because the warmth and joy that comes from having companionship is unmatchable; unreplicateable – he invents the word on the spot and resolves to patent it – and incomparable. He yearns to have someone at his side and he knows how badly he needs it; not only for the sake of having someone to spur him on, but for the sake of having someone to hold him back; someone who can encourage him and discourage him at the right time for the right reasons. The TARDIS without the Ponds, and the thought of the Doctor alone… the thought frightens him. He knows who he can become without the steadying influence of another, and he despises the very notion of it; despises the man he can be without someone there to question him.

Of course, there are others he could call upon. One doesn’t reach his very great age without accruing immortal friends; daring friends; foolhardy friends; friends you can call who won’t ask questions, but will come along for the ride all the same. He thinks of River; knows that if he were to call her now and ask her to stay, then she would. But he knows, logically, that he cannot do that; she’s an incarcerated woman, and he might have a time machine, but some of the beauty in their relationship stems from the freedom to be the people they are when they’ve not together. He craves her, he yearns for her, and yet he knows that in clinging to her he will only push her away, and so he dismisses the idea at once. A stubborn part of him knows that it’s the Ponds, or it’s no-one.

The Doctor lets out a long breath, knowing that he should be feeling nothing but joy for his friends; nothing but happiness; nothing but excitement. And yet… fear and uncertainty and selfishness continue to play through his mind, over and over again, as he tries to ignore his emotions and focus on the task at hand.

It is the curse and blessing of a Time Lord; to be burdened with the what-ifs and could-bes; every possible future, spanning every possible outcome for a child who is still, by the Doctor’s calculations, little bigger than a walnut; a child who is still developing into something resembling a human being, unhindered yet by any expectations other than those of their continued existence. An existence which frightens, thrills, and excites him in equal measure, like a mystery waiting to be solved. An existence which he knows will bring him great sorrow and great joy; an existence which he resolves to protect at the cost of his own life.

Nodding once to himself, he straightens up to his full height.

“Well, Baby Pond,” he says aloud. “Let’s make it a good one, eh?"


End file.
